


Until the Evening Breaks

by AbbodonAbandon



Category: Death Note, Death Note & Related Fandoms, Death Note: Another Note
Genre: AU, Altenate Universe, Doomsday Cult, Dystopian, It has coffeeshops, M/M, Trans Beyond Birthday, Trans Character, Trans Light Yagami, Trans boy Light, Vaguely sci-fi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 20:38:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12919812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbbodonAbandon/pseuds/AbbodonAbandon
Summary: B is running. Light is just trying to survive. When their paths cross, everything will change.





	Until the Evening Breaks

**Author's Note:**

> I started this on a whim while I'm already drowning in so many other projects, lol. Please please please give me feedback; it helps me decide what projects I should continue and which ones I should drop. Anyways, I hope you guys like this!

The dawn light broke across the shabby apartment floor. B stirred, groaned, and threw the covers off of himself. He didn’t know how long he had been lying there, listless and watching the streetlights create fake constellations in the cracked ceiling. All he knew was that it had been too long; the dry stretch of his tongue told him that much.

So he sat up. Waited for the shuddering vertigo to wear off, and the constant buzz of garbled voices, snippets of audio captured and hopelessly mangled in his brain, to quiet. He would have called them ghosts, if he hadn’t known better. 

Around him, the apartment loomed. Just a barren floor, small yet cramped, with the heavily shuttered windows that had knocked the price down considerably (because everyone wanted to get a glimpse of the ass-end of the city) centered on the far wall. B liked them; covered enough so no one could see in, but with a large enough slat to let in the natural lighting that spilled across the floor. 

To his side stood a dresser containing everything he owned. Buried deep in the bag, where B didn’t have to think about it, sat the last remnants of his old life. From before. B loathed them.

Standing straight, he slunk into his clothes. They were course and dark, the unassuming and utilitarian clothes of the lower class. The only item of value was the binder. Dark blue and sleek, it was built for functionality, allowing him to run without having to worry about a damaged lung or spine. Along with the dwindling canisters of testosterone in his bag, these were the items that had set him back considerably from what money he had managed to steal. Still, they were a necessity, and the binder had been an investment. 

But that was behind him now. Glancing in the mirror, he straightened his clothes, a lazy grin spreading across him at the sight of his flat chest and indecipherable figure. With one last look in the mirror, B stepped out the door.

The city around him was just waking up. The sun sat just above the old, grizzled buildings, casting their sides in a warm red-orange. It was almost pretty enough to make up for the dry, crumbling stone. 

The breeze felt pleasant. Only a few people milled about, beggars and workers. No one who would bother asking where a man like him, not in work clothes, was headed os early in the morning. For that, B was greatful. 

As he rounded the corner, shoulders hunched forward in the position used to show that he wanted nothing to do with anything crossing his path, he stopped. A man, hunched in on himself and wearing tattered, gaudy yellow robes worn only by the Temple of the Sun (and their rather cruel impersonators), stood blocking his path. 

B hissed, flinching at the highness of his voice and all that it could possibly give away, and straightened out of his slouch. Brows drawing together imperiously, he asked, “And what, may I ask, are you doing in my way?”

The old man laughed. It sounded like it hurt. “Your way, my way? The world is ending, my lad, and yet you stand here, blabbering to me about ‘ways’. Youth these days…” Another harsh hacking sound punctuated his words.

B stiffened. The prophesying the end times wasn’t surprising; the Temple of the Sun was a doomsday cult. They weren’t wrong, completely. With the ugly growth that had spread to many of the world’s plant life, it had been the end times for some. But still… Something in the man’s eyes made him flinch.

“Will the Great Vanguard strike me where I stand for my ‘nonsense’? Or will it be the Sun lord himself who will devour me with his beams of light?” B asked dryly, before stepping around the figure.

“Fools fall as they stand, dumb and proud as they are chopped down like cattle!” He cried to B’s back. With contempt, B stalked onward. 

The streets bled together, shorn in industrial grey-brown and trimmed with the now rising sunlight. It loomed as a blight on the horizon line. Still… He was free. Only that mattered. 

A quiet bakery sat to his right, tucked away from the foot traffic. From what he had heard, it received enough business from word-of-mouth to thrive. B entered, the door jangling above him, and he seated himself at a table. He would have to order something soon or he would be kicked out, but for now, he just wanted to watch.

Time was a luxury. A luxury that B preferred to spend (or what most would refer to as wasted) on watching the people trickle by from his window seat. Back before, he had no time, and now… He adjusted his feet so they rested on the ledge of the window in front of him. The black of his boots glinted pleasantly in the light. 

“Excuse me, sir. Are you going to order anything?” The voice, high and decidedly pleasant, cut into his haze. 

Slowly, B turned around, mouth already drawn in a frown. “Perhaps if you didn’t bother me I-”

The boy before him, because surely he was a boy, he had to be, was radiant. Soft and smooth, with a rounded face and a tiny nose wrinkled in petulant disgust, something about him drew B in. The coppery hair fanned around the boy’s face like a halo. B looked up slowly, to meet the boy’s gaze. Deep amber eyes regarded him with malice. 

“What?” The boy huffed. “Were you struck ill?”

B snapped out of his stupor, eyes narrowing at the boy before him. “Aren’t you supposed to be nice to your customers, little prince?” It was an apt nickname, B thought; the boy didn’t carry himself as if he hailed from the working class.

The boy stiffened. “That’s- that’s not my name! And we do, unless our customers aren’t actually customers and are lazy bastards who take room away from real ones!”

“Princling!” A voice from behind the counter called. The boy flinched, cowing immediately. 

A large man, stuck somewhere in the indeterminable time of middle age, stepped out to intercept them. “What is all of this fuss about? Are you yelling at one of our customers?” A bemused look had crossed the man’s face. 

“I wasn’t-”

“I was just looking to order some food, when this one accosted me. I think I’m owed reparations for the emotional damages he caused me.” 

The man laughed, deep and from his stomach. “Fiesty one, isn’t he? A regular spitfire.”

“Is that why you call him that? I've been lead to believe that’s his real name.” 

The boy glowered at both of them, and B found his mouth twisting into a smirk. It was cute.

“So what’ll you be having?”

“Coffee. Is it on the house?”

The man snorted. “No. Light, get this man his coffee.” He gestured at the boy before turning away. 

The boy, Light, was left to stand with his glower still directed at B.

“So your name’s Light?” He only asked it to break the silence, he reasoned to himself. “Did you pick it out yourself, or…” He needed to know.

Light’s lips tightened. “Yes, in fact. And it’s none of your business why.”

B smirked. “Of course not, sweetheart. Now may I have my coffee? Or will I have to get your manager over here again, young man.” Light stalked off. Only a few moments later, barely enough time for B to readjust his legs on the table, Light returned with a boiling cup filled with coffee. 

“I take it you won’t be needing anything else?” Light was gone before B could answer. 

As B waited for his cup to cool, his people watching turned from the street outside to the cafe. Or, one specific person in it. With some amusement, B realized that Light wasn’t exactly the spitfire the man had made him out to as. Although there was some bite behind his voice with the rowdier customers, Light kept a very civil tone, friendly even. Friendly enough to charm a young lady into getting a second coffee as to stay longer, B noted. 

So it was just B that drew such a... divisive reaction. Something inside of him jolted at the thought. 

B’s cup had almost been drained, only a small collection bitter dregs oozing at the bottom of the mug, when the door opened.

Unlike with the other customers before, B knew this was different. The way the door opened, confidently yet with a certain practiced delicateness, betrayed the woman’s status immediately. Even the jangle of the old bell above her seemed much more regal with her entrance. 

B ducked down, head slumped as he maneuvered himself as best he could into the corner so as not to seem suspicious. Unassuming, just another member of the working class wanting a drink. Nothing more. Nothing less. 

When the woman entered fully into the room, all eyes fell on her. She was breathtaking, in the plastic way most of the high class were. Done up in makeup and fine yet practical clothing, even with the seemingly minute differences, it was clear everyone in the room and her were worlds apart. Everyone, except for the boy standing stock still as he was still bent over a customer, fiery amber eyes fizzled to embers.

“Light.” The woman breathed it familiarly. B couldn’t help but flinch at the trepidation on Light’s face. 

As the woman approached Light, B took that as his cue to leave. Nothing good would come from him being seen by high class people, even if they didn’t know him. Word traveled fast, even to here.

B quietly made his way out, taking care to wind in front of the pair. As he stepped out into the street, the light hitting the pavement just right on the ground from overhead, he couldn’t help but look back.


End file.
